It’s been an unexpected and rather disquieting fact that this time around re-reading all of Iris Murdoch’s novels in chronological order, in my mid-to-late-40s (last time I did it was in 2008-10) I’ve discovered that many of the characters who I previously considered as ‘adult’, certainly older than me, have been slipped past and are now younger than me. This was again the case here, with the central, adult figures, Gertrude and Guy, being in their early-to-mid-40s and most of the constellation of ‘cousins and aunts’ similar. I’ve noticed I’ve had slightly less tolerance for the caperings of the young, so I hope I don’t end up unable to respect anyone apart from Bruno or (insert other very elderly characters here). It’s not a problem as such, just interesting.

If you’re doing the readalong or even selected books along with me, or of course some time afterwards, do share how you’re getting on and which have been your favourites so far.

Iris Murdoch – “Nuns and Soldiers “

(31 December 2018)

I think this one gets left out a bit as the follow-up to “The Sea, The Sea”. Certainly, based on the Introduction to my edition, it wasn’t received that well by the critics. But I’m very fond of it; I love the scenes in the French house, and I’ve certainly not tired of Anne Cavidge (so much more successful than Ann Perronet).

We open with Guy dying and his wife Gertrude surrounded by friends and family. The chorus of relatives demands particular behaviour when a circle of suitors manifests itself. While she tries to escape – to the north, to France – unprepossessing Tim seems to claim her heart while the distant satellite, a Polish “count” holds still with his love hidden. Who will Gertrude choose, and will she stick with her choice? Over the course of a year we watch Gertrude being courted, other constellations moving around her, and time passing in a circle.

Who is the saint? Anne or the Count are really the candidates, aren’t they? The Count is doing penance for his father’s anti-Semitism by page 4 (“and for much else”) although it’s worth noting that he does pass on gossip where a true saint would absorb it. His life is “a conceptual muddle” which is always a good sign. He also notes that “It’s not for me to judge” about Tim (p. 323) while also confronting Tim about his morals and seemingly planting ideas of integrity and honour into his head (p. 380). Anne is of course an ex-nun who has a vision of a somewhat Buddhist Jesus and she effaces her love for the good of others. Gertrude says of her, “She is not a Saint, she is not even an Abbess!” (p. 52). I do love the portrait of their long and complex friendship, by the way, a massively attractive feature of this book for me. Manfred and Mrs Mount consider then to be “a spineless pair” who should have ended up together (p. 497). Is our saint Daisy, who absorbs things then pops off to be an American feminist? Tim is described as taking everyone’s blame by the chorus, but that’s because he’s a scapegoat, not a saint.

Are there any enchanters? Gertrude seems to have an effect on people but only in a loving way. Are the chorus of aunts and cousins which turn out to be manipulating things rather a lot in the late scenes a sort of joint enchanter, making things happen as they wish?

Murdoch is much more positive about marriage than in “The Sea, The Sea”. Gertrude and Guy’s bond was so close “They had never seriously quarrelled, never been parted, never doubted each other’s complete honesty” – presumably why she’s so very upset when Tim shows up as a liar. I loved the description of both Tim and Gertrude feeling a little superior to each other but transforming that into protective tenderness. There’s probably a lot to be said about Gertrude’s inability to appreciate art and Tim’s various issues in the art galleries, but I’m not sure I’m equal to that!

In other more common themes, Guy was writing a book of course, which is never finished. Daisy is writing a novel which is more successful. Anne has a short fur of hair, while Gertrude has tangles of brown and Tim of red. Once more, older women are described disparagingly – Daisy has become “prematurely haggard”. Gertrude grows older in Tim’s eyes, greying and with eyes displaying signs of crying. The descriptions of the sea in the north and the rivers and pools and canal in France are beautiful. The rain and thunderstorms play a major role. Stones are a big feature, with the beach ones hampering Anne but Jesus giving her a special stone. Anne observes Tim in the garden in France and he looks through a window and sees what he should not see. There’s discussion of how to be good and Jesus Himself sums it up:

Do right, refrain from wrong. (p. 298)

In this context, I also loved Anne’s statement to the Count that it’s best not to take your own life in case you could have done some good for somebody in later life. She’s passing on a good message here. Cats and dogs feature with all Tim’s cat paintings and Tim and Daisy’s story being bookended by Barkiss the dog disappearing and appearing.

Doubling is everywhere – Gertrude has two husbands, Tim has two tests in the canal and Anne one in the sea. In France and London are opposing house, one constrained and one free (or is it?). There are two dogs in the canal – one dead, one alive, both turning to show a raised paw, and two fountains (the face and the moss fountain). As well as Tim’s ordeal, he and Gertrude count themselves as having had one when they separate. There are two big break-up scenes (Tim and Gertrude, Tim and Daisy). I loved the times that Tim and Anne almost run into each other, walking in London.

There’s not much actual humour in the book but great sayings such as “There is a gulf fixed between those who can sleep and those who cannot. It is one of the great divisions of the human race” (p. 37) and on Gertrude and Anne’s friendship: “She and Anne would always be riding together in that indestructible chariot. Only since it was so indestructible there was perhaps no need to let it run over her dreams” (p. 281). I also loved the assessment of Tim:

Like many instinctive uncalculating liars Tim was too lazy to think out his lies with care, and faced with exposure tended perhaps, as a token gesture to his conscience, to tell the literal truth. (p. 340).

Daisy’s feminism and swearing opposition to pretty well anything is both brave and amusing. Tim caught in the brambles is also pretty funny.

In relation to other books in particular, Gertrude and Tim breaking up at the end of one chapter and then being found in the process of getting married at the beginning of the next always reminds me of when Dora in “The Bell” is resolving not to give up her seat on the train then doing so. The discussion of the meaning of Guy’s dying phrases, including the one about “the upper side of the cube” turning out to be about hitting a tennis ball rather than some kind of deep philosophy recall Dorina in “An Accidental Man” suddenly recalling that “Pliez les genoux” was about skiing lessons rather than the imprecations of some holy man.

A good read, I think, with lots of drama and adventure and a lovely denouement when we suddenly look at everything through Manfred and Mrs Mount’s eyes.

Please either place your review in the comments, discuss mine or others’, or post a link to your review if you’ve posted it on your own blog, Goodreads, etc. I’d love to know how you’ve got on with this book and if you read it having read others of Murdoch’s novels or this was a reread, I’d love to hear your specific thoughts on those aspects, as well as if it’s your first one!

If you’re catching up or looking at the project as a whole, do take a look at the project page, where I list all the blog posts so far.

Ha! It’s bad enough when police officers begin to look young without book characters doing the same! Once upon a time I was younger than Anne of Green Gables – now I fear I might be just edging past Marilla… 😉

I too find it disconcerting to re-read a novel and find that characters that seemed old(ish) to me on first read are now younger than me. It’s interesting to have that different perspective on a re-read though. I’ve never read this book but after reading your review I’m intrigued enough to want to so I shall add it to my list.

My reading experience is the opposite of yours in that my reading self has stayed in his twenties, lucky bastard, while my actual self has moved on 40 years (and if I reread my William books I can go back to being 12!). I haven’t read any Iris Murdoch other than her work on Sartre but you are making me think that I should.

Like Ali, above, I think of myself as being a lot younger and the IM characters as being a load of middle-aged grown-ups (when I first read her in my teens I thought the books were SO sophisticated!). I would love to hear your thoughts on some of the novels. “An Unofficial Rose” has an Australian character and a friend of mine has done some great research on IM’s Australian interests and connections, too!

As usual, Liz, you’ve done a great job of unraveling the themes; and I love your comparison to An Accidental Man! I have fond memories of reading this novel when I was just a little older than Tim Reede and now find myself older than any of the major characters; but I don’t think my assessment of it has changed much (though I might be a little more judgmental of the characters). Although I think, as you suggested, Liz, this is not generally considered by critics to be among her best, it is such a pleasure to read and the scenes in the French countryside still swept me away. (Has Murdoch ever devoted so many pages to two people alone together?) I think I was almost as disappointed to return to London as Tim and Gertrude.

To me the book seems full of characters in transition, moving or trying to move from one self-image to another, attempting to grow into those new identities with varying degrees of success. Anne tries to emerge from the image of the self-abnegating nun only to find that most others can’t see her as anything else; the Count, saddled to the image of the honourable soldier, “with a soldier’s circumscribed lot,” finds it difficult to get beyond the “moral stiffness” he has cultivated to meet the world; Gertrude, like her Shakespearean namesake, is caught between her grief and passion, between her identity as a widow and as Tim’s lover; and Tim vacillates between Bohemian artist and committed husband until his encounter with the landscape seems to force his hand. Even Daisy is caught between images of artist (how Tim perceives her) and writer (how she perceives herself).

I love the way that Anne, perhaps the most selfless person in the novel, and Tim, one of the most seemingly ego centered, are linked by their perils in landscapes of stone and water (significant elements in many of the novels). Anne is battered by the smooth stones and rough water of the Cumbrian coast while Tim is immersed in the rocky stream of the French countryside, overseen by a numinous stone face. Their terrifying experiences seem to wake them up to something within themselves. After her return from the Cumbrian coast, Murdoch describes Anne gazing at herself in a mirror; and we are told later in the novel that at that time she began to acknowledge her attraction to the Count, creating a conflict with the image of the selfless nun she had worn for so long. After his encounter with the landscape, Tim also seems to wake up to or take ownership of a new self-image as Gertrude’s husband. As with Effingham in the bog (The Unicorn), however, any insights or changes realized through the terror of an encounter with the landscape, may be fleeting.

A side note on Anne: I remember reading something – possibly in Murdoch criticism or possibly an unrelated article – about Hildegarde of Bingen, the 12th century abbess, poet, musician, and visionary mystic known for the artistic renderings of her visions, probably painted by the nuns in her community. I’ve included a link to some of these images: https://sfmosaic.wordpress.com/2010/11/20/hildegard-von-bingen/

There was a hypothesis floating around that Hildegard suffered from migraines and that these circular visions with their crowded borders and the frequent zig-zag patterns in the art reflected elements of the classic migraine aura. I’m not sure Murdoch had Hildegarde in mind, and it is unlikely that she was aware of this migraine hypothesis; but It is interesting that Anne describes her own circular migraine aura as a grey hole surrounded by boiling porridge, then filling with light, and she hopes for some kind of vision – perhaps of Jesus – to come out of the hole, much like the visions recorded in these circular paintings. Nothing materializes for Anne within the migraine circle. But those circles and holes keep appearing throughout the book as well, most significantly in the French landscape, where a circular sweating stone face fills with light and becomes a “mirror,” and black holes encircled with “contending foam” lead to underground tunnels.

Regardless of where critics place this book, it still feels very special to me. The first word of the novel, “Wittgenstein,” may be off-putting; but once through the introductory background, it feels like the perfect summer read.

I love your points about the characters in transition, and also thank you for reminding me where that migraine stuff is found – i remember always being amazed by the description but also half-remembering something about someone’s religious visions! I’m also glad I’m finding other fans of this slightly neglected book here.

Liz, I’m with you on the age thing and it was only when you pointed it out that I realized that I too was older than the main characters, I’m not sure what it is that made me assume I was younger -wishful thinking?

I really enjoyed this novel and my review is below for details. There were definitely echos of other Murdoch novels for me, Anne, for example, reminded me of Cato in her loss of faith although the whole conversation with Jesus was unique and strangely disconcerting. There was two near drownings and we have seen both close escapes and death by drowning in several novels and at the end it seems as though another young girl, Rosalinde, is about to fall in love with an older man.

The character of Sylvia Wicks was another conundrum, the way her tragic life was introduced at the beginning of the novel, a few references were made about her and then all was well at the beginning of the novel, and I was nonplussed when at the end of one chapter Tim and Daisy were together and then you turn the page and Tim and Gertrude are getting married. I kind of appreciate those kind of touches though.

I loved the quotes you pulled out Liz and all the themes you explored and I really appreciated what Peter said about characters in transition and their changing identities as well as his comment this is a ‘perfect summer read’, I completely agree.

I’m so glad you enjoyed this so much and to have your wonderful review, too – I love your assessment of Daisy and your enjoyment of the twists and turns. I will do the round-up post later today as have got a bit behind!

Another late review I am afraid but I would like to share my thoughts with anyone who is still likely to read, and add to the thoughtful entries already made. I read this when it cam out in paperback in probably 1981 or so and I always regard it as a turning point in Murdoch’s novels. I was not sure about it at the time because it lacked the panache of The Sea, The Sea. Now looking back over the whole of the oeuvre, I still think it is a turning point – it is longer and looser in its plotting- we are moving towards the ‘baggy monsters’. I think there is more realism and it is more introspective. Having said that I totally agree it is a good Summer read because it takes you on holiday to the French countryside and there is light and sun and an unreal landscape harain which c and like Peter I did not want to get back to London.
I do not know who the enchanter is but I do regard the power figure to be Guy. As he lies dying his illness put the lives of a number of people on hold but there is also the sense of him holding court and he exerts power over all of them, he has a group of relatives in expectation of inheritance, Sylvia the luckless relative has been supported by him (yes Jo, she is an odd element, because there is so much detail about her predicament, and I feel that she was going to play a greater part but Murdoch lost track of her), and Tim Reede depends on him financially and this possibly stops him from maturing, and he is keeping Daisy from freedom: Peter the Count is always aware of Guy’s superiority to him, Gertrude has no life outside of her devotion to Guy. When Guy dies all the characters must realign themselves without him at the centre so as Peter points out they are in transition, and the story is about their transformation. Anne Cavidge comes into this scene as a new element which also changes. Although Guy is a generous and pater familias character he is and on his death they are set free and chaos breaks out. It reminds me in this way of the Time of the Angels – when God is dead the angels take over and they are terrible – but in Nuns and Soldiers on the whole they all have a much more positive journey.
Peter the Count interests me very much – he is so isolated and rootless. He is not a soldier although his father saw him as one and he is not a Count. He is however presented as a soldier ‘with a frustrated fantasy heroism’ and it made me thinks of the two very different soldiers in The Sea, the Sea James and Ben Fitch. Their being soldiers links them and sets them apart from the rest of the people around. The Count is isolated because of his different origins and the guilt of his history, and his lack of family and no national roots.
While the scene at Ebury Street is serious we are cheered by the youth and raucous vigour of Daisy – she embraces life and one jut hopes she is going to be all right in the US. The final scene in the pub when overhears the regular customers discussing the events is like a chorus bringing the reader back to the everyday world. It also follows the theme of how we are tied by how others see us – Anne as nun, the Count as soldier.
I find humour also in the social observation of ‘les tantes et les cousines’ who congregate in the Ebury Street flat – despite the grimness of the situation they are quite comic.
There is a lot to say about the relationship of the characters to the natural world and Peter’s review very percipiently observes how the characters are transformed by stones and water
So as always there is too much in this novel to be able to give justice in a review, but although I think it is a stodgier read than some of the others, I would certainly read it again for its enchantment and humour and there is plenty to make me think.

A brilliant assessment, thank you! I think you’re onto something with Guy being the enchanter and his loss creating a hole that has to somehow be filled. And how brilliant to have read it when it came out; I don’t get to those ones for me for some time yet!